Beast
by DearNoah
Summary: Loki becomes consumed with self-loathing and bitterness. He isn't above taking everything from Darcy. Based off of Beauty and the Beast. Post Avengers.
1. Rebellion

I found my self especially caught up in the whole Tom Hiddleston hype after watching Thor and Avengers several times. And I've always had a thing for villians, just a soft spot I guess. But I decided why not take my favourite Disney fairytale, Beauty and the Beast, and try to inspire a Thor story out of it.

Though this version will certainly not be as family safe as its Disney counterpart. I just thought why not show the darkest and most cruel side of Loki, fresh after his ultimate failure in the Avengers and being banished. So I will warn readers, there will be violence and many different types of abuse on his part.

But I do appreciate feedback!

I

* * *

_"Sleeping is giving in,_

_No matter what the time is._

_Sleeping is giving in,_

_So lift those heavy eyelids."_

_-Arcade Fire, Rebellion (lies)_

The Great Hall is silent. Not a person has dared to whisper or murmur gossips of the Asgardian Princes return. And though everyone is thinking it, no one has mentioned the betrayal of Prince Loki. They fear him, and they wonder if all the stories are true. If he can in fact disappear from in front of your eyes, and make it the last wondering thought you ever had. Some speak of his ability to project images of himself, to read the weaker minds and to turn water into blood.

He is an unusual man.

The trial has started and everyone of status has come to see the treacherous Prince exiled away. The warriors three are seated in the jury box, they have been called to witness. And one by one they did, out of patriarchy, out of vengeance. Sif hesitates when Loki's eyes turn upon her. The way he stares through her, she knows that he will come after her one day, if he is not found guilty for his crimes. And then, he will destroy her. Because she was a childhood "friend", and he had told her once, while he was in rule, that he was not above making an example out of her.

But he is found guilty. For treason, murder, lies and deceit. Basically any crime found dishonourable and horrid. So the council talks amongst themselves, and finally an older man, an advisor to King makes the suggestion of beheading the god of mischief. The room is hushed for a moment. But that is cut short when the grand doors are thrown open, and from the other side of the hall everyone looks down to see the oldest son of Odin, infuriated and storming through the hall.

"Father I will not allow this!" Thor's thunderous voice boomed through the hall. He was always known to be arrogant in his talk, in his demeanour, but this was a serious subject of life and death. The Asgardian council murmurs amongst them, and finally Odin raises his hand dismissively to his eldest son. Thor slams his great hammer on the ground in fury. "I will not stand by and watch him die!"

There is a quake from the power of the Mjolnir. Hushes are heard from the council and the entire room has turned their attention to the King, anticipating his response. Th All-Father massages his temple in exhaustion, in his age he had become so weary with his sons and their wild actions, and now he has to deal with his eldest most rouge and passionate son, soon to be King of Asgard, as well as his youngest adopted son, who has recently become a great threat to the kingdom he once ruled and the realm of Midgard. Odin gives Thor a sad look, yet his mind is made up, "You have no choice Thor. Loki has made his bed; he has disgraced the kingdom through treason and is to be punished for his crimes."

Thor shakes his head and roars, "This is cruel! He is your son!"

"Always with the shouting, brother." Loki comments with monotone disinterest. He hasn't said anything the entire trial, for in silence he was better suited anyway. Loki has just been watching with disgust, who could he have lived so long and not know he was not a part of this family? But he doesn't care anymore; he has already begun plotting his escape and eventual revenge. Nifhiem seemed like a notable escape route, he had ties there and was not unwelcomed by the people. But still, he needed to wait for this tedious trial to be over.

Thor shoots his brother a look of desperation, his sky blue eyes trying to make contact with cold emerald ones. But the sorcerer refuses to look his "brother" in the face. Finally Thor sighs, "Loki where has your will to live gone?"

Loki laughs and looks to the ceiling with bitterness, finally addressing his hatred for Asgard, "What have I to live for? Is there not anyone else who believes that death is worthy over eternal imprisonment? I would rather sleep forever than live a pawn to this wretched kingdom. You all would have done better to have been ruled than to now live in fear of my soon but inevitable wrath."

There are gasps heard throughout the room. Loki has to refrain from his signature grin at the discomfort of the council in the same room as him. He thinks back on memories of destruction and chaos. He had almost purged the ignorance and sin of Midgard, he was so close. His reign would have been changing, he would have the power that he deserved. His ledger was forever blood stained; he can recall the falling buildings and dead bodies strewn across the streets of Midgard.

But he's not one to give much mind to the red that washed over his hands.

Even rendered powerless with binding cuffs and the security of Thor and his finest men, he is still feared. It's exhilarating almost and he knew the gears in his head would begin to turn as soon as he was escorted from the grand hall. His vengeance would be sweet, and then the people of Asgard would truly know fear.

Odin stands from his throne and nods to the council grimly, "Loki the council of Asgard has prepared a proper punishment fit for your actions. Though I have been reminded that the accustomed penalty would be banishment, you have been given a second chance. Whether or not you deserve it has been put on me, not just as King, but as your father."

"You are not my father." Loki spits resentfully.

"That is enough. Take him to his chamber; he will be taken in the morning to the Eradz room." Odin orders with a heavy weariness threaded into his words.

At the mention of the Eradz room Loki's eyes widen. He had only heard stories about the horrors that dwell in the dungeon, that black hole of the hidden realm. An inescapable place, meant to destroy the soul before the body. It was a part of Asgard fable that the enemies of the kingdom would be sent to be tortured for eternity. He looks to his father with genuine fear, "No...what father are you to torture a man's spirit?"

Odin shakes his head and turns away from his sons, "Your magic disowns you now Loki."

Loki feels the fear he had once felt as child, and he trembles and his body seizes as an excruciating pain fills his chest, like a combination of severe burning and deflated lungs. His energy begins to drain away from him and he falls to his knees in defeat. Everything gone; he was now as helpless as a mere mortal. The ex-god is consumed with agonizing grief that he can barely make out the arguing between the All-father of Asgard and the God of Thunder. Thor looks enraged, but his words can only be vaguely heard. Defeated, Loki gasps for air and then falls into unconsciousness.

* * *

He traces over the bridge of his nose with this index finger. Looking at himself in the dungeon mirror he sees nothing of his father in his own features. How could he have not known? His mother too, her face round and cheeks rosy, he had no resemblance to the barbaric blonde family. And perhaps that was why it was so easy for his father to send him to his doom.

"He is not my father." He mutters angrily, his limbs and joints stiffly sore and his vessels empty from any enchantment he had once used for his notorious mischief. He growls in anger, in frustration. His death was right around the corner and he had nothing. He had been so very close; he had almost tasted the power when he had stood in Germany, with the mortals kneeling around him. He was a ruler then, he could have had it all.

_"Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power. For identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel."_

_An elderly man stands from the crowd to frightened and keeling mortals. For a moment Loki wonders if the man is deaf or dumb. But then he turns to face the God, a spark behind his gaze, Loki is stuck by pride for such a pathetic race. _

_"Not to men like you." the man says with an assertion in his voice that Loki assumed has been earned through years of life in the constant flux of Earth's wars and chaos. _

_Loki gives a genuine smile, "There are no men like me."_

_"There are always men like you."_

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. He wonders if he should ignore it, but before he decides the door opens to reveal his mother. She is regal, and yet relaxed and timid at the same time. He remembers when she had refused to leave Odin's bedside during his deep sleep. She had always been so loyal, Loki knows she must be her according to her own command. Did she not fear him? Was she seeking the opportunity to ridicule him for his wrongs before his sentence?

He growls, "Do you not fear the monster, the frost giant who almost took your home?"

"Loki." Frigga calls softly. She stops halfway across the room, whether it was out of fear or respect for his personal space, he couldn't tell. The Queen wrings her hands together as if mauling over the words she had yet to say to him. Finally she exhales, "Loki, my son."

Loki turns away from her, angry with her indecency to come to him like this, to try and manipulate his emotions when it was too late for repentance. He did not seek it either; in fact his heart was still vengeful and cold. But deep inside he is reminded of his mother's impartial love towards him and Thor, never did he feel competition for her love, but instead had spent more time along her side growing up. But he does not submit to the sentiment. He runs a hand through his dark hair apathetically, "Woman, you waste your time, I have no purpose to entertain you here, for I am merely a man awaiting his death alone."

"You are not alone."

He sneers at her, "You dare plant your false hope in such circumstance? Who do you think you are? A woman who lied to a child for his entire life? Is it no surprise that I grew to be the God of deceit? How could I not?"

She approaches him suddenly, only a couple of feet in between them, "You are my son and my heart breaks now more than ever."

He rolls his eyes and says stiffly, "Just silly words, I give them no mind."

She cups his cheek tenderly, "More than when Odin was in his sleep, more than Thor's banishment. The anguish is so strong my bones ache. Please Loki, I am your mother. Always."

He moves his face away from her touch, as if he were burnt, and questions venomously, "What is it you seek?"

She takes a step away from him, her face flashes sorrow for only a moment, and quickly returns to its elegant and controlled expression of royalty. There is an quick moment that he feels a flicker of remorse, a part of him wants to reach out and apologize for hurting her, but he silences that part quickly. Frigga notices a change in her son's demeanor, as if he has become suddenly tired and defeated, but she knows Loki is still on edge. Instead of answering him directly, she turns away and digs into her leather satchel. Frigga brings out a golden necklace with a clear tear drop shaped crystal hanging from the chain. The crystal glowed brightly, shining of light. She hands it to Loki, "Keep this with you Loki. Only love can save you now."

Loki thinks the necklace is ugly in a strange but mesmerizing way, and even though all of his magic has been drained from his veins, he senses enchantment from the glistening jewel. He takes the necklace hesitantly, not sure what the bizarre statement even means, and says sadly, "I have come to accept my fate."

"But I have not. Find love Loki, it will save you." She replies strongly, this time wrapping her arms around him like she used to when he was a child. Loki freezes for a moment, not sure what to do. There is conflict between pushing her away and returning the response, but instead he lets his arms fall limply to his sides. His mother ends the embrace and then heads to the door of the room. Turning around before she finally leaves him for good, she whispers "I love you."

He wonders what she had meant with the strange words, he couldn't remember the last time he had even thought of the action of "love". Something stirs inside his chest, perhaps it was anxiety of his awaiting death finally setting in. But he was too tired to think, so instead he collapses into his bed, clutching the necklace tightly in his palm as he slept. And as he fell asleep the last thought he has was his mother's gentle and serene voice, her love for him that somehow filled his soul with sadness.

* * *

He's never been to this part of the kingdom. Apparently it was hidden by ancient magic and his father had only used it as means of punishment twice before in his lifetime. It was a strange honor he supposed; his humor still wry and miserable. Regardless, he was numb; his mind was black and empty like the walls, ceiling and floor of the chamber. And at the very end of the room is a single door, with no handle or knob to grip unto. As he is escorted to the door he feels his heart hitch in his chest.

"This is it. This is the consequence of your failures." He thinks to himself; subconsciously rubbing at the gold chain he linked around his neck.

There are five guards refusing him any chance of escape, and with the cuffs that encircle his bony wrists, he was left as powerless as a mortal. How sad. He jumps out of his thoughts when he heard footsteps behind him. It is his father. They had not spoken since Loki's trial, he doubts Odin has truly grieved as Thor made him believe.

It was with that thought Odin then places his palm to the entrance, and he turns to his guards, "Brace yourselves."

In that instant the king's eyes rolled back into his head and the heavy door slowly opened. As it did a gust of powerful wind blew through the room, even the burly men standing with him needed to hold them against such force. When the door opened all the way the storm stopped, and instead all that remained was the scent of death. Odin finally turns his gaze to Loki.

"I release you from my magic." Odin states simply. Loki feels cool air surround him and his skin forms goose bumps with the chill. He stares at his changing hands, as his flesh retreats to its original form. He is blue, skin complete with grooves and ridges as he takes his true frost giant form. "Go son."

Loki looks at the elder man with desperation and confusion written on his face. He can't form words in his mouth with the betrayal he feels as his "father" walks him to his death. Instead he shakes off Odin's hand and clenches his eyes shut.

"HAVE YOU NO MERCY?" Loki roars with wild fury. He doesn't even realize that his eyes were stinging from frustration. Against his own will he manages to choke out, "To march me to my soon demise? Why?"

Odin gives his son a seldom look, his eyes softens with emotion, "Loki, only love can save you from your hatred."

"What?" he hisses, awaiting an answer for the riddle he had been trying to work out all day. "What is this foolishness you speak of?"

Odin replies by shoving the young Prince into the doorway, sending him to a fall into the abyss of darkness. He wills the door shut and then leaves the chamber with a sigh, "Oh Loki, I have done everything I possibly could."

* * *

Darkness.

Silence.

It was a place Loki could get used to.

It reminds him much of himself. But there was something eerie and cold about the black expanse that he found himself in. He's not sure what to make of it. There is no light and not even inches in front of him could be seen; his godly senses apparently useless in this place. No longer did magic spark at his fingertips in anxiousness to be released.

He is washed out and empty.

Loki takes a step forward; on edge but still unsure what to anticipate. With a first step his bare foot falls through the ground and he stumbles into the deep abyss. The darkness soon begins to fade into a night blue sky and Loki can't help but notice that his clothes and amour had disintegrated into nothingness. He continues to fall slowly; feeling a light breeze against his exposed skin and cool metal on his collar bones.

Strange.

Finally he lands at a bare field or poppies, the ground scattered with red and sky dotted with galaxies. The land seems barren other than the meadow of flowers; it was as if he standing on one of the moons of T'ihtus. But he had never been or studied whatever place this was.

"What realm is this?" he mutters to himself.

_LOKI_

The God of mischief whips around to find the source of his call. But instead he sees nothing.

"Who's there?" he questions quickly. "Reveal yourself!"

_YOU HAVE TAKEN YOUR LIFE FOR GRANTED_

Loki stares at the night sky and swallows nervously. Trying to mask his unease he calls out again, with false pride, "I am a god! Life is a petty human limitation that I will not be a part of."

He begins to walk away, in a direction that's end remains a foggy grey mystery. Within his first three steps his foot makes contact with something sharp and he takes in a sharp breath as he hisses in pain. Kneeling to the ground he removes a large sliver from the sole of his foot, wincing in pain as crimson liquid bubbles and forms a small puddle at his feet. And then he notices a figure, a cloaked man whose silhouette is faded from the fog.

_YOU ARE NO LONGER A GOD_

Loki then understands his predicament, not only was his magic taken, but his godly status as well. With great anger he throws his head to the person, "Who are you to take my birth right?"

_A MUCH HIGHER POWER THAN YOURSELF_

It was then the roots of the small flowers grew long and black and reach around Loki's ankles and climb around his legs. Thorns prick his skin and cause long scratches to form on the pale tissue of his body. He stubbornly tries to yank his feet from the ground and escape the grasp of whatever was attacking him. But like barb wire, the stems and thorns cut into his flesh, he screams in pain. Loki doubles over and coughs out mostly phlegm and blood. His insides experience an overwhelming sensation of contraction and he lets out another cry as vines wrap their way around his entire body. The hooded man has come closer now, inches from Loki's reach. But he doesn't say or do anything, instead he just watches Loki cry out in pain.

In between breaths Loki gasps out, "Stop this...please..."

_THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT PRINCE OF LIES_

The acids of the plant burn through his flesh and he wonders why he has not died yet. Crimson escapes his blue veins, sputtering out fast, like a faucet tap twisted to its limit. His palms sting, engulfed in red and broken flesh from squeezing his fists so tightly that his lengthened Jotunn nails have dug into his skin. He is a monster now, dying a monster's death.

He wonders if this is how it is supposed to end.

_LITTLE FROST GIANT, YOU SHALL NOT BE GRANTED RELEASE SO EASILY. YOU SHALL ENDURE A THOUSAND YEARS OF THIS PAIN UNTIL YOU ARE GRANTED THE GIFT OF DEATH._

It is then Loki starts to weep. He finds himself sobbing and dry heaving as the pain only gets worse. The tears that leave his eyes burn as they roll down his blue cheeks. Perhaps with his cooled skin of a Frost Giant, or maybe it is another aspect of the hell he has entered. All he knows is that there is no pain or torture he has had to endure such as this. And is quick flashes of white, inbetween what feels like stabs to his temple, he sees Frigga, his mother. And he asks, what good would love have done him now? Loki chokes out between sobs, "Mother...why..."

Suddenly he feels a pulse in his chest, too strong to be his weakened heart. He looks down to see the necklace his mother had given him, the glowing jewel pulsing with magic. In an instant the crystal emits the brightest flash of light Loki has ever seen, comparable to the sun's radiance. His eyes burn from the light and he closes them a little too late. He is nearly sure that he will be blind.

But then he realizes the pain has stopped, and he opens his cracked bleeding lips, forming the slightest whisper, "Why?"

_FRIGGA HAS USED MAGIC TO SEAL YOUR SOUL AWAY FROM MY WRATH. BUT HER MAGIC CANNOT STAND FOREVER. AND WITHIN THREE MIDGARDIAN YEARS YOU SHALL BECOME MINE ONCE AGAIN._

With heavy eyelids Loki no longer fights sleep, and falls into the darkness of oblivion.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	2. Calendar Girl

II

* * *

_I dreamed I was dying; as I so often do,_

_And when I awoke I was sure it was true._

_I ran to the window; threw my head to the sky,_

_And said whoever is up there, please don't let me die._

_- Calendar Girl, Stars_

Darcy wakes up late. Technically she wakes up on time, at six fifteen every weekday morning. But then she groggily hits the snooze button...six times. She rolls over to see the sleeping face of her boyfriend/homeless-crash-at-her-place-and-eat-all-her-food-pal. He's goofy looking, with his face squished against a pillow and wiry coarse chestnut hair sticking up in all directions. His skin is a natural olive; he's said that he's part Greek once. And Darcy can't help but be absolutely giddy with his incredibly boyishly good looks and his whole secret assassin and overall bad ass kind of thing. She met him at the Christmas work party last year, and they've been the bickering old married couple since.

Her thoughts are interrupted when she hears the alarm go off again and he groans in response. But then she realizes it's seven twenty-three and she's supposed to get to work by 8 and there's no way she can shower, grab coffee and drive to the S.H.E.I.L.D. corporate building in that time. But like motto she's always lived by, you can't be late twice.

So she takes a quick shower. Really quick. As in she still has soap foam from her appletini body wash on the back of her neck when she almost trips over her tub and hurries into her bedroom naked. Darcy piles her soaked hair into a messy bun, though she knows she'll regret washing her hair when she has to leave her warm apartment for the chilly mid November weather that awaits her outside.

The man in her bed then wakes up with the sudden noise of the young woman tearing through her clothes in the small walk in closet. He sits up and rubs his eyes tiredly; scratching his bare chest he calls out, "Eh Darce, ya can't take a day off? Working like a mad woman, Christ."

Darcy doesn't bother to peek out from the closet and rolls her eyes before replying, "You should understand that I have to work...'cause well, we work at the same place. Duh." After finding a two socks (mismatched of course) she then quickly pokes her head out the closet, "I don't know Mark, maybe you should try and get a normal job and see how much it sucks."

Mark yawns with indifference to her obvious dig at his work ethic. "Yah but what's Fury going to do? I mean come on; the Captain can go a day without his little tutoring session."

Finally Darcy emerges from her small walk in closet wearing a pair of navy blue old denim skinnies and a plain white v-neck. She grabs her grey cardigan and satchel from her chair and stops to give the main a pointed finger and stern look. "Just because I don't get to go on secret missions and then take a month off of vacation like you and all your stupid agent friends doesn't mean my job isn't important."

He stretches out his arms towards the ceiling and cracks his neck and shrugs. "Yeah well maybe if you don't mind being a couple minutes late to class you can spare a few.."

She stops him, "No."

He smirks, "Alright alright...I've got super-secret-agent kind of stuff to do. I'll see you later tonight."

Darcy nods and the gives him a light peck, "Kay have a good day."

"Waking up next to you has already guaranteed that." He winks.

* * *

But Mark is wrong.

Because Darcy gets stuck in traffic and thus has absolutely no time to get her Starbucks. She finally makes it to S.H.I.E.L.D and flashes her ID to the secretary before rushing to the elevator. All she can think about is how she's going to get shit on by her boss and how she'll have to drink horrible office coffee. But then she remembers that today is Thursday, and that means she has tutoring with Captain Fucking America.

Apparently he really wanted to catch up on history and politics.

Jane, who has gotten a job as Erik's assistant, has been working in the labs, doing what she loves and being as perfect as she is. And one day, after Darcy's finished off her Master's degree with a poli-sci major and history minor, they have coffee. And Darcy's been busy, writing in the local newspaper, reporting and such. But she's also been bored, and missed her friend and the excitement that's come with all the crazy shenanigans that have happened in the past two years. She hardly sees Jane anymore, or Jane's bodybuilder God of Thunder boyfriend, who happens to visit every other month or so to check up on the sweet little speck of dust he has taken it upon himself to protect. So when Jane mentions that she runs into the other Avengers from time to time, and that Thor (who's been visiting Earth for the last couple months, strictly on secret business of course) has been hanging out with Steve Rogers. THE Steve Rogers. Apparently it's easy for them to hang out because they're both kind of new to the whole slang and technology thing, Darcy just thinks that it makes Steve feel better not to be the only one who doesn't understand anything. But it's when Jane asks Darcy if she'd like to take some time off writing to tutor the patriotic Avenger in history lessons and whatnot Darcy thinks she might wake up from some crazy dream.

She recalls her answer being, "Are you fucking kidding me? Of course! Yes!"

And that's how she's started.

From Monday to Wednesday she's actually attending S.H.E.I.L.D meetings, after all she has majored in politics. And Nick Fury has stated that along with Steve being taught history, they would like to catch him up on the whole basis that is the operation of S.H.E.I.L.D. As well with taking notes from world issues and events that are primarily hidden from the public, she reads as many documents (as she's allowed access to) and tries to wrap her mind around subjects such as the origin of S.H.E.I.L.D, the tesseract, HYDRA and other cooperation's business.

Thor has actually been very useful with the whole tesseract thing. But he's still the moron who almost killed himself getting tangled up in a snuggie.

Darcy finally gets to her desk, she grabs her binder and then goes to the schedule to see what today's lesson will be on. Ah Vietnam. Steve is always interested in wars.

"Lewis. You're late."

Darcy frowns and looks up at the disappointed yet stoic face of her district manager. It's Agent Paul Rhedly, he looks older than he probably is and Darcy wonders sometimes if he's ever gotten laid.

"Sorry sir." She apologizes. When the man doesn't reply she questions if he's waiting for her to go into detail of why she had decided to show up tardy. But Darcy isn't very good at lying and hates justifying things that are dumb. So she quirks an eyebrow, "I don't have an excuse."

"That's not the reason I'm here. Director Fury wants you in his office now."

So Darcy finds herself riding the elevator to the top floor, awkwardly in silence with four other, better dressed and highly professional agents. The elevator stops a couple floors before the main conference room and when the doors open to reveal the infamous Black Widow, Darcy immediately smiles at the familiar face. She once accompanied Jane to one of Tony Stark's mega awesome fancy parties and played a game of pool with Natasha verses Clint and Jane. Other than being a trained killer, Natasha was a pretty chill chick who actually enjoyed many of the things that Darcy did, such as avoiding people, Sudoku puzzles and cat videos on YouTube.

"Hey what's up?" Darcy asks lightly.

Natasha gives the younger girl a small smile and answers coolly, "Just another day, Agent Lewis."

Oh yeah. You're supposed to be all professional and shit.

Darcy gives her an apologetic look, before answering with embarrassment, "Cool cool cool."

Finally they reach the floor and Darcy finds only she, Black Widow and one of the other people are leaving the elevator. "Must be some crazy security regulations..." she thinks to herself. The Russian killing machine then pats Darcy on the back and then takes a left towards the combat room. Darcy continues to get escorted towards the meeting room. When she gets there she recognizes her pupil and another agent in training. Nick Fury then starts the meeting.

"You're all probably wondering why I've called you all here." He starts while setting up some coordinates on his hologram grid that rests a couple inches over the table. "Well the truth is, with the down time we have in between fighting super villains and protecting Earth, Agent Rogers has made a simple request of going sightseeing."

Everyone looks to the overgrown Boy Scout and notices him giving a childish shrug.

"Miss Lewis, because you have so kindly been working for us, and are now a trusted employee, I thought why not send you to take Steve and Thor over to Germany where you can teach on the events of World War II as well as allow Steve sometime to catch up on the last major events of his...pre-frozen life."

That sounds exciting.

Quietly Darcy decides to speak up, "You know, I think this is a really good idea and I am totally on board to do this. It'll be fun, just like a field trip."

"Alright then it's settled. Tomorrow you will board a private jet meet with one of our corresponding tour guides and continue on your little field trip."

Steve Rogers seems very excited.

* * *

"I guess I'm going on an all paid for trip to Germany...with Captain America. I mean how crazy is that?" Darcy says into the receiver. She's trying to juggle between stirring the tomato sauce she has cooking on the stovetop and talking into her phone.

Jane's voice is heard from the other end, "Oh my goodness Darcy, that's going to be so much fun!"

Darcy bites her lip, "I hope so...between you and me, hot stuff GI Joe is really socially awkward when it comes to just chillin with people. Like the poor guy can't even get drunk? How am I going to loosen him up?"

"I'm pretty sure you'll see that twelve year old side to him that we see on Thor when we took him to the Sea Life Park Aquarium. I didn't know a God could take so well to playing with a dolphin." Jane giggles from the other line.

Darcy takes a little taste of her creation before scrunching up her nose, "Salt. It needs salt."

"What Darcy?" Jane asks.

"Oh nothing!" she hums back, "So how are you feeling about Thor going back to Asgard? Ya gunna miss all his lovin?"

Jane gasps, "I...I well...we are not having that conversation! But yes, I'll miss the big oaf. He's only going to be gone for a month though. He hasn't been the same since you know...Loki's exile. I mean sometimes he's okay, but he doesn't sleep well and it's harder to make him smile..."

"It's probably still hard losing someone, even if they're totally crazy and tried to take over the world...twice. But I'm sure when he goes to Asgard he'll bring pictures of you and show you off to all the other warriors and whatnot." Darcy says, hoping to cheer up Jane. Finally she turns off the stove and sets the small kitchen table with plates and cutlery. Then she pours herself another glass of wine and takes a sip.

She hears Jane's voice sound a bit hesitant through the phone, "Darcy, have you told Mark about the trip? I mean he's a good guy and all, but do you think he'll be okay with the whole going to Germany with another man who happens to be the world's only super solider?"

Darcy has thought of this. Her boyfriend is a pretty rad guy, but she worries that with his competiveness and jealousy man complex that occasionally flares up if he'll be okay with the whole thing. She hopes that cooking his favourite mean will ease him into the idea, but Darcy can't see him getting to upset. For she never really bothers him about his missions or anything.

She remembers that Jane is still on the line, "Oh! Sorry Jane! You know what? I think Mark will be fine with it. He might just miss me. But oh well."

With that she hears someone entering her home.

"Hey Darcy-bean, I brought those little chocolate almond things you like!" Mark calls from the doorway.

"Jane, Mark just came home. I'll talk to you later!" Darcy says happily into the phone.

"Alright! Good luck!"

And with that Darcy welcomes Mark to sit down and enjoy the spaghetti that she's prepared.

He goes through his day, out to the bank and around town for a bit. He's excited to just talk to her; Darcy loves the way he gets so enthralled with the silliness that is just people. And he enjoys himself half a glass of wine before finally slowing down.

Mark twirls some noodles on his fork, "The sauce is a bit watery."

Darcy feels a twinge of irritation but instead she reaches over the table and flicks him in the forehead, "Well I guess I'll just hang up the apron and we can go back to take-out."

"As long as it's Panda Palace." He retorts in tease. Finally he looks up at her and smiles, "So how was work? Did Captain Kindergartener pass the pop quiz?"

She just rolls her eyes and takes another sip of wine. "Actually I have some news. Director Fury has instructed me to go along on a mission for Steve to go back to Germany and revisit some places he had...infiltrated."

Mark takes a few seconds to respond, "Like what a field trip to some museums?"

"Well... not exactly." She starts.

But he cuts her off, "Seriously he nothing better to do than fuck around in Germany at some abandoned factories and shit? And why do you have to go?"

Darcy is put off with his sudden annoyance. This is not how she thought he would handle it. So she just picks up her finished plate and takes it to the sink, then she turns around and leans on the counter. "You don't have to be so vulgar about it Mark."

He rolls his eyes back at her, "Yeah well tell me you understand how stupid that sounds. I mean it's a complete waste of money and time."

"You don't seem to complain when you get a month's vacation and use it to go out camping or partying with the boys." Darcy retorts evenly.

Mark stands up from his chair, "See that's the thing, the BOYS. How can I trust this guy around you?"

"You're worried about Steve? He's like a seventy year old virgin. I'm pretty sure ours is a platonic relationship." Darcy tries to joke, tries to lighten the mood and avoid a showdown in her tiny kitchen.

"Yeah you're only pretty sure, no surprise there." Her boyfriend replies snidely.

Darcy's jaw drops at his boldness, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark runs a hand through his hair, "Come on, you know how that will make you look."

She shakes her head, "You're nuts! Maria Hill only works with men! And nobody bothers Natasha!"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Mark says with a hint of arrogance, "The reason why it's different is because those girls are real agents! They actually have earned their fucking ID badges. Like everyone knows you got your job because of the hot astrophysicist assistant who happens to be sleeping with one of the all mighty Avengers!"

She feels her eyes sting at his words, but instead of becoming weak she just points to her apartment door. "Get out."

Mark frowns, "Darcy look, I didn't mean it like that."

"Get out."

He doesn't put up any fight. But instead he just grabs his things and slams the door on his way out. And Darcy feels like shit and she doesn't want to clean up. So instead she decides to cry in the shower and read a book and call it a night. She'll phone Jane tomorrow.

Maybe things will be better tomorrow.

* * *

Surprise, they're not.

The plane is small and Darcy has forgotten all about her loathing for flying. She hates heights and turbulence and just about everything that makes up the identity of an aeroplane. But Steve seems alright. She's expected him in silly spandex of blue and red, but instead he's opted for a brown leather coat, a style from probably his era, a long sleeve grey shirt and jeans. And darcy shouldn't be surprised, but it's just in the past year of working at S.H.I.E.L.D she's only seen Steve wear combat clothes consisting of grey shirts, black pants and matching shirts. She wonders who's responsible for his shopping. But even the thought of Steve Rogers parading around in GAP can't make her less bummed about the whole Mark thing. He was her first serious relationship after all. And even all the internet time she had spent couldn't cheer her up.

"Miss Lewis, you don't seem yourself today." Steve says with uncertainty.

Darcy ponders for a moment if she should bother to vent, not like the ninety year old virgin will have any advice for her. But she's alone, and she got Jane's answering machine that morning. She takes a drink of her cola and tilts her head pensively.

"Steve, have you ever had a girlfriend?" She asks.

He blushes, "No...I was close once I think...but we never did get to go dancing."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Darcy says quietly. This is the most depressing plane ride she's ever had, but listening to some guy who's love life is more pathetic than hers makes her feel better, and like a terrible person. Captain America makes a sound as if he were about to add more input, but he hesitates. So Darcy decides to urge him to express any other past life feelings. "Go on. I'm listening and we still have a ways to go."

He swallows uncertainly, "Well...I was never really good with...women. Um but there's this lady that I've been talking to for the last couple months who works in the defense/intelligence services at S.H.I.E.L.D. She's very...nice..."

Darcy momentarily forgets about her problems and feels excited to hear of the love-struck feelings of Steve Rogers. It's so high school, but she doesn't care. She decides to entertain herself, mostly because she want to get her mind off things and she's pretty sure the poor kid has no one else to talk to about it. So she asks curiously, "Oh who is she?"

Steve fiddles with his thumbs like a nervous eight year old, "Her name is Nicola Abrams. She likes carrot muffins."

Darcy raises a brow, "Oh you've talked to her?"

"I had lunch with her in the cafeteria on Thursday..." he gives a small smile. Then he taps his fingers along his arm rest thoughtfully, "But I didn't ask her on a date...I thought it might be a little too soon to jinx that."

"Jinx what?" Darcy laughs at the man's childishness.

Steve gives her an unsure smile, "Well the last time I asked a lady on a date, I ended up frozen for seventy years."

Darcy's not too sure if it's too soon for him, if maybe he hasn't really gotten over the whole "forzen-for-a-long-period-of-time-and-losing-everyone-you-once-loved" thing. She gives him an apologetic look and leans over to rub his arm comfortingly.

"Don't worry, that kind of thing's like lightning. It never strikes down in the same place." She says softly.

Before Steve can reply the plane gives a sudden shake. Within moments the turbulence becomes stronger and becomes anxious. The co-pilot emerges from the small pilot quarters, he looks calm and that eases Darcy's nerves.

"We're just picking up a little storm, don't worry we'll be there in about forty minutes." He reassures before he steps back into the cockpit.

But it's only seconds before the plane suddenly veers sharply down. There's an unusual shake. The pilot's voice is heard on the speaker, he is urgent but still composed. "Everyone stay calm! We are experiencing some difficulties with the aircraft. Please make use of the oxygen masks we provide until the plane is landed to safety."

Just then, on cue, oxygen masks fall from the ceiling. Breathing becomes more difficult for Darcy, who is struggling to equip her mask with her shaking hands and the tremors of instability from the plane. Steve notices her thrash about and before putting on his own oxygen mask he unbuckles his seat belt to reach and aid her. After finishing helping her, he then squeezes her arm softly, "It's okay, don't panic. Maybe it's just some technical difficulties. I've been through ten times worse."

But the plane continues rocking even more furiously, and Steve stumbles forwards, Darcy lets out a little shriek. He gets to his seat and tries putting his mask on, but the shakiness of the plane doesn't allow him to. Too Darcy it feels like some insane roller coaster. The plane takes a deep drop and now she realizes that the wetness she can feel on her cheeks are actually tears. Steve has given up on getting to his seat and is now tearing open the carry-on cabinet for the emergency parachutes. She looks through the window and sees that the plane is nearing snow capped mountains, with no intention of stopping. She cries out as the plane draws closer.

"Steve!"

The super soldier tries to reach her, "Darcy!"

She hears a deafening crash, her body is jerked forwards and then there is nothing more.


	3. Stiches

Sorry about the long wait, hopefully this chapter was worth it.

III

* * *

_And this may hurt a bit,_

_Breaking out your stitch._

_You spelled it out so many times_

_So spit it away_

_-Morning Benders, Stitches_

She must have been dead.

But Darcy is sure that experiencing a lobotomy was not an attribute to being deceased. With a splitting headache she wonders how she is still okay. By some crazy chance, she thinks that maybe she is still alive. Barely, but she is still alive.

But her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an older woman's worried voice, "Oh dearie... the poor girl."

"Her arm seems to be healing quickly." A man says softly.

Darcy's attempts to open her eyes to see the source of the voices. Her vision is blurred for a couple seconds, but she manages to make out a man and woman talking at the doorway of the room she was in. The man looked to be older, around forty and was tall and skinny, instantly reminding her of Ichabod Crane from her childhood story books. He is wearing a white thermal shirt and black trousers. The woman appears older and is dressed equally as plain, but her body stature is opposite to the man. She is short and stout, like a tea pot.

Her chest feels heavy and wonders if she is in a hospital, though the room looks a little too nice for a public infirmary. She groans as she tries to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots from her left ribs, she cries out and falls back to the soft bedding. The man standing in the doorway rushes to her side.

"Mademoiselle! He calls to her happily, pulling a chair next to the bed. Up close Darcy could take in the details of his face, the crow's feet at the corners of his soft brown eyes, pensive but currently focused on her awakening. He turns to the woman who is already hurrying to the bed and calls "She's alright!"

The woman appears at Darcy's side in an instant, "Oh you're awake! This is wonderful!"

She squints and then asks hoarsely, "Where am I? I feel I've been brutally trampled in the...well everywhere actually."

"You are in the eastern valley castle. I found you unconscious in the forest on my way back from running errands from the closest village, any sooner and you would have been eaten by wolves." He recalls gently. "You have endured many injuries, we were nearly sure you would not have awoken from your sleep."

Darcy winces, trying to take in the fact that she was in a literal castle, and then she finally takes in the detailed architecture of the ceiling designs and columns that decorate the room. Though there is little decoration, when Darcy sees the slightly transparent red canopy above her bed that match the silk sheets she lay under, she wonders just how in the hell she got there.

Before she can ask anything the woman pats her hand comfortingly, and with a motherly sigh she says, "Your injuries have healed very well in the past three days. We didn't know if you would make it, but I'm so happy that you're getting better... Oh! Let me grab you a glass of water, you're probably so thirsty!"

"Three days?!" Darcy yelps, "I've been sleeping for three days?"

Then it hits her. Memory still hazy, but she slowly retraces her steps back to the plane ride. She can recall her last moments before blacking out. And then she is flooded by anxiety and grief, if the state of her body was a representation of her current emotions, well Darcy understands why she feels like death. So she looks back at two and breathes out hastily, "Oh God, did they...did you...did you find them? The others. There were three other people with me."

The man looks taken back for a moment and then frowns sadly, "I'm sorry, I did not find anyone else. "

Darcy can feel tears threaten to roll down her cheeks, "But...but they were with me...no...please no..."

"It was a plane crash you say? Perhaps your plane had landed on the other side of the mountain and you had just fallen out at the right time..." he attempts to reason.

Darcy shakes her head, "How would I have survived something like that? My friends...they could be dead..."

"I am truly sorry." He apologizes as her strokes her arm. The older woman comes back with a cup of water and a small white case. She places it on the nightstand next to the bed and sits back next to the man.

Darcy holds back a child-like sniffle, "When I am better will you take me to look for them?"

"Yes, we will send the entire castle staff to search for your friends." The man reassures her with a sad smile.

The woman elbows her companion in the side, "We still need to speak to the master." She then offers Darcy her hand and helps her sit up slightly so she can drink the water. "Now dear, you need to focus on getting better and then we'll see what we can do about your friends."

Darcy nods and sips from the cup, the refreshing water soothing her sore throat.

A knock is heard on the door and a timid boy enters who looks to be about sixteen. He's panting as if he's just run up and down a flight of stairs. There is a dramatic breath taken before he says to the man who has been tending to Darcy, "Sir you are needed on the second floor."

Darcy notices the man's face pale with unease, and he gets up slowly and smoothens out his slacks and rolls the sleeves on his cotton shirt. He squeezes Darcy's hand with assurance, "I will be back soon, do not worry."

"Okay..." she says hesitantly, before finally asking, "I'm sorry but I don't even know your names."

He smiles, "Yes, how rude of me! I am Benoit Lafond, the chief concierge of the castle. At your service m'lady."

"Oh and I'm Cecile Rouche!" the woman introduces herself. "And what is your name?"

"Darcy Lewis." Darcy answers tentatively, wringing at the sheets at her waist.

"Pleasure to meet you, Darcy Lewis." Benoit smiles charmingly and then pauses before he turns to the boy and orders, "James, stay with Miss Lewis and Mrs Rouche until I return."

She runs her thumb against her bed sheet with distraction; she still wonders how she could have survived a plane crash and only sustains a few broken ribs and bruises.

* * *

As the day passes Darcy finds herself alone and anxious. Her body still aches, but not as badly as it did like when she woke up. It's strange, the rapid rate at which her damaged bones and swollen wrist is healing. But she has seen weirder, so she doesn't think much on it. But what she does think of, what consumes her with each passing minute that she is awake, is how useless she is. She remembers Mark's cruel words; she still feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment, even now probably lying in her death bed. Part of her wonders if that's what everyone else had thought. That perhaps she had just slept herself into S.H.I.E.L.D, or that she was just some silly favour that Thor requested.

She's expendable. Darcy knows this already.

But it is worse now, the feeling that had once been faintly eating away at her self-esteem, that would only occasionally flare up, it has now manifested itself into something completely different. Conviction. Guilt. She can't stop thinking about the two pilots that had flown the now crashed and apparently missing aircraft. She had met Agent Barry and his wife officially before they had boarded the plane; she was pregnant with their second child. And Agent Thompson, he was older; he had been so friendly to Darcy, even offering her flying lessons later if she was interested. Two good men, who had just anticipated an easy flight, a silly history field trip for Captain America.

Oh Steve.

_"But I didn't ask her on a date...I thought it might be a little too soon to jinx that."_

The guy couldn't catch a break.

Darcy hopes that he is alright. She knows he's not immortal or anything, that his superpowers have limits like everyone else. But there is something inside of her that just prays that he has been as fortunate as her. Because if he hasn't, well she doesn't think she can live with that option.

So finally, she takes a breath and sits herself up. She has motivated herself to find her comrades, even if it means sneaking out of the castle and stealing a horse or whatever. She feels bad about ditching Benoit and Cecile, but she has priorities. Somehow her toes make contact with the cold floor. And against the orders to stay put from Benoit and Cecile, she is in the process of walking like a newborn deer. Darcy clutches the cherry oak column of her bed frame and slowly crosses the room; with each step she finds freedom. Her calves ache and she finds it difficult to make it to the door without out stopping for breath, but she is excited to be mobile again.

She peaks her head out of the door to see if there is anyone who can stop her from making her escape. The hall is dark and empty, there is only light emitted from the fancy wall candles, Darcy thinks that the place is slightly creepy. But she makes a run for it anyways.

And after getting to the end of the corridor she finds a set of stairs, Darcy wishes she had requested a map of some sort, but she doesn't have any sense of direction so instead she sticks to the wall and slinks her way to what she hopes will lead her to outside.

She ends up at what she assumes is the main floor, and mentally notes that her room was found on the second level of the east wing, just in case. She weighs her options, to run out in the middle of the cold night in only a thin nightgown, or snoop around for anything that could be of any help.

"Pants. I need pants." She says quietly to no one in particular.

After trying two doors, only to be locked, she notices that of the two on the parallel side of the room, one seems to be left slightly open. So Darcy tip toes in and sees even in the candle lit room, that she has entered a large office. There is literally nothing left out of place, every paper is stacked perfectly and after close examination she sees that the books along the shelves are arranged in alphabetical order. She almost feels bad when she tears through the drawers in search of anything helpful.

The first drawer holds small jars of ink (she is fascinated that people apparently still use it to write with), pens and stamps. The second is found to be just as useless, just envelopes and papers, very neatly tucked away. She moves around the room, across from the desk is a fireplace and two antique chairs placed close by. The floor is accented with what looks like a very expensive fur rug, it tickles the soles of Darcy's feet as she pads her way to the mantle. There is a dagger, either on display or for emergencies. It looks like it's still sharp, and the elaborate designs on the gold handle reminds her of lost treasures she's read of in fairytales.

Darcy liberates it with much gratitude.

She is about to leave when she sees that she has left one of the desk drawers opened, how silly of her. So she goes back to close it, to cover her tracks she supposes. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be a true agent at S.H.I.E.L.D. But Darcy ends that thought and picks up the dagger, but fumbles it in her clumsy hands and ends up slicing her finger with a small cut.

"Ow fuck..." she breathes out before sticking the wounded digit into her mouth.

"Had I expected a stranger to trifle through my belongings I would not have left my door unlocked." A strange voice drawls, temperate yet brooding.

Darcy gasps and almost drops the knife again, she whirls around and sees a figure standing at the door. It is a hooded man; the warm lighting that emits the room shadows his face from her shocked stare.

She tries to get words out, but only manages to stutter, "I-I'm so s-sorry."

The large wooden desk is placed strategically between them, but even with that and a weapon in her hand, Darcy doesn't feel very confident in herself. And she's sure she has imagined it, but the temperature in the room has suddenly drooped what feels like five degrees.

"You have no idea how sorry you will be." The man's cold voice cuts through her with an indecipherable calamity.

The sharpened blade clutched tightly in her hand has not effect of courage whatsoever. Darcy goes with her gut feeling and decides to try honesty, hoping that maybe the person would understand her ulterior motives.

"I-I was in a plane crash, and I woke up here...in this c-castle... I've been resting with help of two of the servants, b-but I need to leave to find my friends." She stammers ungracefully, pausing only set back down the dagger into the drawer, merely hoping that whoever she were talking to would realize how much of a threat she wasn't. She continues, rambling on out of nervousness, "It has already been nearly four days, I fear if I don't go to look for them...then they will surely die...if they have not already."

There is silence for a moment. Darcy feels her heart thumping in her chest.

"In exchange of hospitality that saved your life, you would trespass and attempt to steal from me?" he sneers with an icy tone. "Has no one taught you any manners, little girl?"

Darcy begs desperately, "Please. I need to find my friends."

"I am not to be taken advantage of, nor am I to be mocked." He states oddly, Darcy tries to hold a brave face, but all she can do is bite her lip in panic. He continues in spite of her fear, "What makes you think that even if I did not decide to tear out your beating heart for theft and intruding upon the solitude of my home, you would even survive in the wilderness for a night?"

She gulps, because she's pretty sure somewhere he had mentioned ripping out one of her vital organs. When she finally musters up the bravery to speak, she's pretty sure she has nothing to say to him, nothing to justify herself. So instead she tries again with truth, "I need to try, even at the cost of my own life."

She hears him snort derisively, "You are a fool. And your death would surely mean nothing. Go on, take the blade and go. Give yourself up to the wolves of the forest."

He turns towards the doorway and starts to leave. Behind the fear that has Darcy's fingers trembling uncontrollably she also feels irritation at the condescension and cruel indifference in his voice. But instead she tries to bargain, "Wait! Please!"

He pauses but does not turn.

"Help me. I know you have enough servants to do so." Darcy asks desperately, "Please I would give anything, anything to know that they are alright."

His back is still facing her, and she holds her breath while he contemplates her request. Finally her answers, "You have no idea of the gravity in your oath."

"W-what?" she asks uncertainly.

"Anything. You offered me anything." He speaks slowly, his voice is velvety and smooth as though he has become now interested in Darcy's misfortune. She feels her blood run cold, as if she's about to make a deal with the devil.

Before she can think her mouth has already decided, "Anything, just help me."

The hooded man turns back to her and steps further into the room, he gestures with his hand to the space in front of him and orders, "Come."

Darcy does what she is told, and even though her knees feel as if they are about to give way on her she walks around the table and stands in front of him for further inspection. She still can't see his face from the poor lighting of the room, but she is sure that he is giving her a glance over, and she suddenly feels very conscious of the fact that she was not wearing a bra and has been bed ridden for three days.

"You will stay here." He states coolly, "In this castle until I say otherwise. You will be my prisoner."

She sucks in a breath out of surprise, but he continues.

"In exchange to send out a search party, at risk the lives of my own men, for what can presumably be for a lost cause," Darcy frowns at his cruel and blatant disregard for her friend's lives, "You will trade your freedom, your life for theirs."

She knows that he is asking her, but the way the words fall from his mouth she hears quiet authority. The tension in the room is thick, and Darcy finally says in a quiet whisper, "Yes."

She remains in silence as she awaits the man's reply. Without warning, he reaches out and grips her jaw gently in his gloved hand. Darcy makes a small squeak, but is as still as she can be, even with her trembling knees.

"Your name." He states, not as a question but as a demand.

She blinks, "Darcy. Darcy Lewis."

He lets go of her quickly, "Well Darcy Lewis, I trust you understand what you have given me. For you are mine now, anything I desire from you I will take because I can. And when I have taken everything from you, and you are left numb with regret for this very day, you might find hope that perhaps your sacrifice was worth it. But that will be all you will have. An empty hope."

Her chin trembles, she is at a loss for words. For what kind of man would want to own someone as a slave, to destroy their spirit? There is no other option. Darcy has no other choice. She holds back tears and bravely asks, "What should I call you?"

"You shall address me as Master." He states robotically, uncaring and blunt.

"You're crazy; I'm not some pet you can have!" Darcy states angrily, "I'm a person, a human being! I would have gladly worked for you, to pay off my debt or whatever."

He cuts her off by roughly grabbing a handful of her hair and tugging her hardly to the ground until Darcy is kneeling in front of him, in shock and pain from her aching legs and sore scalp.

"You are my pet, mortal." He says coldly. "And don't worry; you have quite a long time to pay off your debt."

Just then a knock at the door interrupts them and it slowly opens to reveal Mrs Rouche. She looks worried and tired, but quickly her expression changes when she sees Darcy.

"Master, you are early from your trip." She says to the man.

He turns around sharply, "Did you bring this girl into the castle?"

The older woman gives him a knowing look and says, "You would have left a young woman out to die?"

When he says nothing, she takes it as permission to tend to Darcy. She walks past the man and Darcy can't help but notice that he seems to have a good foot of height on the head maid, who looks even shorter by comparison.

She helps Darcy up and says in a light whisper, "I told you not to leave your room."

"I will deal with you and Benoit later. Take her to the East wing." He says impassively. "She shall not leave there until I say otherwise."

"Yes sir." She replies and leads Darcy out of the office. As they take the stairs slowly, Mrs Rouche chimes in, "Don't be too distressed dear, the Master's just in one of his bad moods. He's not always like this."

Somehow Darcy doubts that.

Soon Darcy reaches the bedroom she had stayed in for the past few days and returns to the soft bed. The maid helps her settle in and resumes taking care of Darcy as if she hadn't just walked in on her selling her soul to the devil himself.

"I'm going to clean your bandages so you're going to have to try and be as calm as possible or you might reopen your stitches." She says gently. Darcy thinks back to her own mother, the one who lives in Wisconsin with her new family and membership to the fancy golf club. She instantly likes this elderly lady much better, especially the way she makes Darcy feel like she genuinely cares about her not dying and all.

She looks to Mrs. Rouche with appreciation, not only for her help, but for interrupting the scene back in the office. Darcy manages to say with a still quivering lip, "Thank you, Mrs Rouche."

The old maid smiles sweetly, "Cecile. Call me Cecile."

Darcy frowns, not at the familiarity and friendliness that she is being offered, but the circumstance of what is happening finally setting in. She looks to the woman and asks with sincerity, "Will I be okay?"

Cecile gives a small cheerless smile, but Darcy sees the genuine intentions of easing her worry. The woman runs a hand through her greying short curls and sighs, "Maybe not now, but you will be. In the meantime however, you should get your rest."

Darcy nods with a yawn, "Okay. Goodnight Cecile."

"Good night Darcy."

It doesn't take long for Darcy to find herself alone and unable to sleep. She wonders if maybe tomorrow she will wake up back in New York cuddled in bed with Mark, that maybe this whole time it was just a dream. But she knows, a dream couldn't last this long. So when the reality of her situation hits her, when she finally realizes that she is a prisoner, she begins to sob as quietly and as muffled into her pillow as she can. Her body curls itself into the fetal position, and she hugs her knees tightly to her chest as she grieves her life.

But then she remembers his words earlier...

"_You are my pet, mortal. And don't worry; you have quite a long time to pay off your debt."_

And it's not just the malicious tone and carnal allusion of "paying off her debt" that leaves her completely traumatized, but it's the way he had called her a mortal. What a strange thing to say, she had only heard someone throw words like that around so casually when she had first met the God of Thunder.

It's then Darcy realizes she has absolutely no idea who she is dealing with.

And when her cries turn into dry sobs and then eventual snores, Loki steps away from the closed doors, to return to his chamber. He reminds himself that she has brought this upon herself. But even if she had not, he is also reminded that life is not fair.

* * *

Thanks for reading, I love feedback :)


	4. Mountains Beyond Mountains

My God, I haven't updated in so long. Sorry I've been so busy with school and work. But to my reader's who are willing to forgive me and read on, please enjoy :)

IV

* * *

_"These days my life I feel it has no purpose,_

_But late at night the feelings swim to the surface."_

_Arcade Fire, Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)_

Loki can still make out his reflection through the cracks in the glass. His bare skin is vibrant against the shades of grey that make up his room. Cold flesh, deep blue with color. Almost like dark thrashing oceans or stormy winter skies.

He is a frost giant after all. Standing completely exposed in front of the mirror he had nearly shattered a couple months ago in a moment of frustration. His hand bled for a couple hours and then healed completely the next morning. But the wound was still there, his morality flickering like a dying candle.

Even now the All-Father's magic followed him as a hedge of protection. It had confused Loki, as to why the punishment he was serving had been delayed, and why Odin still cast healing upon his body, which would soon enough cease to exist.

He remembers when Frigga had told him that there was reason in all things that Odin did. A ridiculous notion he was still yet to believe. But nevertheless, still he cannot resent her, all while her words still haunt his sleep.

"_Find love Loki, it will save you"_

When he had awoken in the secluded castle he immediately knew there was enchantment over the place. The servants were too kind, too willing. He wondered why the All-Father had bothered to set him up with such privileges, how his fate had worked out so favourably for him. Still, he seethed in anger. For this was just a waiting place until his true punishment came.

He still remembers the crown of thorns he wore weeping at the feet of death.

All he can do is wait, each day going by in a blur. Before long, months blur together and Loki finds himself bored with the prison of the large compound. He has tried to venture off, but every time he makes it to the river he finds himself torn with pain, so excruciating that he is forced to turn back. Every attempt to gain back magic, no matter how minimal, is in vain. More than once he has put himself in a deep slumber, to make mental contact with other realms, hoping to find doorways locked away. But each time he is met with an empty universe.

There was nothing left for him.

He had been in the middle of a bottomless sleep when the girl had arrived at his grounds, his servants thought he was away with work, but instead he had been in a coma induced state right in his bedroom.

She had brought him out of it sooner than he had liked.

A knock at his chamber door interrupts his thoughts. He steps away from the mirror and opens the door to reveal one of his head servants. Loki doesn't bother with his cloak; they have seen his true self without any question, though he wonders if it is out of enchantment or fear.

Cecile has never struck him as fearful, the way she mothers the entire castle, and is not afraid to speak to the traitorous prince as though he were just a child. She doesn't grimace at the sight of his body; instead she announces with underlining poise, "Master, your breakfast."

She motions to the cart she has brought with her, complete with steaming plates and sweets that have come straight from the kitchen. Since he was a child, Loki had always carried quite the sweet tooth. But today he not particularly hungry, perhaps in thought of death and the inevitable.

"I'm not hungry this morning." He waves the cart away and turns to shut the door.

But Cecile interrupts him, "Shall I send the food to our guest? She's hasn't eaten much since waking up."

Loki rubs his temple wearily, "I hardly think the girl's lack of appetite has anything to do with me. I don't care what you do with her."

She raises a brow, "Can't you just be civil with Miss Lewis?"

Curiosity strikes Loki; he has always been drawn to mischief. He recalls when she had introduced herself, but a strange feeling possess him, as if he has heard that name before. He repeats, "Miss Lewis?"

Cecile nods, "Darcy Lewis. She is American."

He is already acquainted with the divisions of Midgard, each territory and its countries. He is also aware that America was where Thor had ended up when he was banished. But Loki digresses, knowing that America is large in land and population. Still, his curiosity for the girl as peaked a small interest.

She continues, "I would suggest you make her feel at home, being that...well I suppose this is her home now."

There is a crystal ball on a shelf near him, one that contains liquid and a tiny winter scene. Midgardians called it a snow globe. Loki had taken to them during his past visits to the realm. He picks it up and examines it, with a light tilt there are sparkles swishing around. Looking back to Cecile with disinterest, he scoffs, "I don't have time to entertain. She is lucky enough to have not been forced into the dungeons."

Cecile gives a dissatisfied hum and asks with a hopeful plead, "Won't you just try? At least allow her to leave her room. Perhaps...she might understand..."

He rolls his eyes, "There is no point. Cecile, I have already accepted my fate, a foolish wench will not change that...nothing will."

"What do you have to lose?"

He considers for a moment, though his time is running out, he doubts that there is any possibility of lifting the curse. And yet, he sees sorrow in Cecile's eyes, he knows that she feels sorry for Darcy. He doesn't blame her. Alas, Loki doesn't have the heart to tell her he cannot conjure up the means to love or be loved. At nearly three or four centuries old, there have been few women in his life to have ever won his heart, and even then it had ended in his spirits being calloused and bitter.

With a quick change of mind he shrugs, "You may go. And tell the girl to meet me for dinner at seven sharp."

He doesn't miss the smile on her face as she leaves, nor the foreign warmth that radiates from the necklace around his neck. Out of habit he reaches to the gem and clutches at it, all too aware of the pulsing he feels from under his palm.

Darcy picks around with the oatmeal and bowl of blueberries she was given that morning. She's hungry, but her appetite has been strongly affected by the mood she's in. Confined to a bedroom, even though it's just about the same size as her little studio apartment that she was living in New York. But she still hates it. The balcony doors are locked shut and the only social interaction Darcy gets is the few times in the day when Cecile or Benoit check up on her. It's difficult not going crazy.

She hears a knock at her door and calls out, "Come in!"

The door creaks open and Cecile enters, Darcy notices she is pushing a cart full of yummy foods and a large basket of various items in her arms. Cecile joins Darcy, who is sitting on her relatively neatly made bed and sets the basket out in front of her.

"I tried to get you some things that you could entertain yourself with." She offers sweetly. In the basket are a few novels, a sketchbook and various pencils. She notices some clothes folded neatly at the bottom, Darcy is relieved to be able to change out of the night gowns she has been wearing for days straight. So for this she is grateful.

She carefully lifts a light blouse and charcoal slacks out and gives a smile of an appreciation to the head maid, "Thanks Cecile!"

After stepping out of her sleepwear, she slips her arms through the slightly too long sleeves of the shirt and buttons it up. Darcy has no shame in front of the elderly woman; realizing that after Cecile took care of her during those three days of unconsciousness that there would be no point in being a prude about her body. She rolls the sleeves to her elbows and then does the same to the pant legs, folding them evenly about two inches about her ankles.

Cecile has busied herself by placing the books neatly on a desk in the corner of the room. When Darcy is done changing she turns to her, "Is there anything else I can do for you Miss Lewis?"

"Yes. Actually, I was wondering about my friends in the plane crash. Do you have any news on them?" she is hopeful, because it seems to be all she has left. And though she does not know the mystery man in the slightest, a small part of her believes he will hold up his end of the deal. "Um...he had mentioned he would gather a search party to find them."

"He did so first thing this morning. Benoit is out with another twenty men in search for your friends." Cecile says softly, she hesitates with worry, "Darcy please understand, there are many blizzards and storms that occur in this area...even if they manage to find the plane...I can't promise..."

The younger woman nods with a sigh, "I know...but I have to be certain."

Cecile gives a sad smile, "Of course dear. Now is there anything else I can do for you?"

Darcy feels bad for her. Because she knows that Cecile is sincere in her attempts to make her feel better, but no material things could change her status of enslavement. She sighs and decides to go for it, "Well it would be cool if you could let me go for a walk."

"I haven't received permission to allow it..." Cecile says with the ghost of a frown, but then pauses, "But I have been sent to invite you for dinner in the dining hall tonight with the Master at seven o'clock sharp."

Darcy shakes her head stubbornly, "No! I refuse! That man is stupid and awful and I hate him!" She has gotten off the bed to pace around the room while flailing her arms in anger, "God, who does he think he is! You can't just enslave people!"

"Now Darc-"

But the bewildered young woman just continues her rant, "As if that asshole thinks I'll willingly eat with him! Tell him to shove his invitation up his ass!"

"The Master has not extended an invitation, he has ordered for you to join him." Cecile replies calmly, she is used to dealing with children's tantrums and she supposes that Darcy is justified in her anger.

"No. I'm not leaving." Darcy pouts; immovable in her answer.

Cecile backs down, "Alright then dear. I'll send a dress to your room if you change your mind. I must go for now, but I'll see you later today."

With that Darcy is once again alone, she can't cry anymore so instead she sits at her desk and begins to read. Her stomach growls loudly and she reaches for a tasty looking croissant, refusing to succumb to her hunger and leave the only privacy she has.

It is exactly seven o'clock and Loki is sitting at the head of the grand dining table, waiting patiently for his guest. He still wears his cloak, though now his hood remains down; he wonders her reaction, if she will be able to hide her fear. He doesn't dwell on such thoughts; instead he takes a drink from the red wine and drums his gloved fingers along the table top.

Five minutes pass and he has barely taken another sip from his glass. After another ten go by he abruptly stands up, so quickly that his chair falls backwards and clatters to the ground. Loki pulls his hood on and leaves the room, heading to the guest wing.

James, who has been ordered to serve the meal sees his master leave the room and detects some very unresolved anger. He tries to keep in step with Loki's quick pace and attempts to reason with him. "Sir perhaps she is getting ready and has lost track of the time?"

Loki waves his hand to dismiss him and states coldly, "She will repent the day she disobeyed me."

The words leave his mouth dripping with venom. The servant boy visible pales and follows Loki up the grand flight of stairs into the east wing of the castle. When they get to the guest corridor, Cecile is already standing in the hallway with a trolley full of medical supplies. Loki turns to Cecile in rage, though his body language is nothing but composed. He asks with a calm derision, "Did you not relay the message to our _guest_?"

She doesn't miss the emphasis on the last word.

"Yes...but she wasn't feeling well. I was actually just about to check on her fever." Cecile replies hopefully, motioning to the ice pack she holds in her hands. She waits for Loki's reaction, his face is expressionless.

His tone drops into just above a whisper, she has never seen him so livid, "The girl plays a dangerous game. I will teach her a lesson about disobeying me."

Cecile frowns and takes a step forwards, "But Master, you need to be gentle. How else will you convince Darcy you are..." her voice trails off and she reconsiders the words that had come to mind.

Loki breathes out, "That I am what? Not a blasted fiend? Not wretched excuse of man, cursed by fate?"

"Master, you are not those things." Cecile tries with a softened tone.

"I AM A MONSTER!" he roars, arm sweeping forwards to knock over the cart.

Several items land on the floor with loud clanking. In frustration he walks to the end of the hall where Darcy's door is and knocks loudly, calling out without waiting for an answer from within, "Do you wish to not eat ever again, to wither and die by your own choice?!"

He hears her from the other side of the door, "If that means avoiding dinner with you, then yes."

"How dare you assume that you are given the choice?" He spits out in irritation. Mostly the fact that he is yelling at a mortal woman through a door has him completely enraged.

There is no answer. And if Loki had his powers he would be able to hear the gears in Darcy's head turning. He would know that she was thinking of his voice, the same voice that had haunted her all day, one that she could not forget. They both share the feeling of strange familiarity. He is about to throw the door open when finally it opens.

Darcy steps out of the room and in front of him, she does not seem to hold the initial fear he had seen from the first night they met. He notices quickly that instead of trembling she is stands straight to appear more confident than she obviously is, the hesitance in her eyes give her away. He takes her in, now groomed and clean. Even her bruises seem mostly faded and healed. She is beautiful Midgardian girl, with large eyes and puffy lips.

She inhales and says, "If I am going to have dinner with you than at least show me your face."

He is struck off guard. There is no point to continue hiding behind a cloak, for it is his castle. But still, deep within he feels shame, though he knows this foolish girl understands nothing of his ancestry, but he can't bring himself to reveal his frost giant skin. He is silent in his thoughts, searching her eyes for deceit.

"What the mind has witnessed cannot unseen." Loki's words are still and had they been any colder his silver tongue would have been frozen to ice.

Darcy bites her bottom lip, "I can assure you that anything you're self conscious of, I've probably seen worse."

Even in his anger Loki finds humour in her naive words. He has always been a wry enthusiast of irony, being the Prince of Mischief after all. He lifts his hands to the large hoof of his cloak and pulls it from off his head. A gasp escapes Darcy's mouth; there is no movement however from the both of them. His gaze is directed to the stone floor, and against better judgement his eyes look up to meet hers.

They are not wide with fright or disgust. She stares at him with intensity; he notices the shade of her eyes. Azure and bright with life. He finds himself lost in the blue, so similar to his own flesh. He wonders for a brief moment if perhaps the sudden intake of air was in surprise. While running a hand through his unruly black hair, Loki is reminded of the reason why he was here.

"What do you think, Miss Lewis?" he is cold and precise with her name, "Have you seen worse?"

She raises her index finger to her lips in thought, Loki is unaware of it, but she has reverted back to thoughts on the Destroyer that he had sent to Midgard, as well as videos of a monstrous green beast smashing Chitauri. She reasons with herself and finally answers, "Well you're certainly in the same ball park, but yes...I have."

Loki is unsure of the emotion that floods over him like wave, it's foreign but he dismisses it. Suddenly he is heavy with his thoughts and exhaustion. He turns to Cecil, "I am going to retire for the night, if the girl wants dinner then escort her to the dining hall and then immediately back to her room. Nowhere else, understood?"

Cecile nods with a confused look on her face, "Of course sir."

And without a second look, he turns around and takes down the hall, leaving everyone standing in complete disbelief. Cecile enters the room, gesturing for a very startled Darcy to follow her inside.

"I suppose he didn't take lightly to me standing him up?"

Cecile shakes her head, "The Master...he's not that bad."

With a quirk of her eyebrow she says sarcastically, "Really? I thought that was him in a good mood."

A moment passes before she realizes it isn't quite normal for people to be so strangely coloured.

"He is blue." Darcy states with a hint of confusion laced in her voice. She pauses for a moment before quickly adding, "Don't get me wrong, I have seen some pretty extreme things. But this is weird too."

Cecile wrings at her hands in thought. She puts her hand on Darcy's forearm and nods her head, "I think you should know a few things about the Master."

The maid sighs, "He is a troubled man. He has no family, and lives only with the constant reminder that his life is drawing quickly to its end."

"You mean he's dying?" Darcy gasps, "Is he sick?"

Cecile falters in thought, "Yes I suppose he is."

Darcy isn't quite sure why, but all of a sudden she is overcome by sadness and pity. To be alone in your dying days, she supposes his anger is partially justified. There was something sad in his eyes; she had seen it behind the red.

She asks in a whisper, "What's wrong with him? Can they not fix it?"

"Perhaps Darcy, the heart is a complex thing to fix." Cecile replies with thought.

Darcy blinks, "His heart? I don't understand...is that why he's blue?"

"Yes I suppose it is." With that the maid smoothes the front of her apron and places her hand on Darcy's shoulder. "Tomorrow I will speak to him about taking you around the castle. Sleep well Darcy."

When Loki enters his corridor it is then he raises his blue palm to his face, skin cool, much like a corpse. It is fitting; he can't remember what it feels like to be alive. With his thumb he softly traces over the ridges along his cheek.

The mark of Jotunheim.

He had killed King Laufey with no regret, his true father. All in the name of Asgard, to steal the love of the people who had never understood him, even though his entire life he had been persecuted for his lack of frame and strength. Even when his descent was unknown, he was still an outsider to Odin's kingdom.

Loki is at ends with himself. He has been so full of hate for so long, it is all he knows.

When he arrives to his room it takes all the self control he has not to collapse on his bed. He removes his cloak and pants; and is met with a reflection of himself in his shattered mirror. The intricate designs upon his chest are dark and sharp, his torso still lean and muscular. If Loki focuses hard enough, he can still recall what he had looked like before.

Though the image becomes blurrier with each passing day.

But this time when he looks at himself he doesn't just see his failures and mistakes. It is Darcy's wide eyes he recalls. Blue.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


End file.
